Something to Tell You
by Dumas1
Summary: One quiet night on the Fellowship's journey south, Aragorn tells Boromir a tale of days gone by. A tale of hearts and lords and the youth of Denethor.


**Something to tell you**

'Hold…bridge…must…not…cross,' the sleeper murmured as he turned. His companion by the dying fire glanced at the moon above and reached out to shake the sleeper.

'It's your watch, Boromir,' the older, greying man said once his friend's eyes were open. Their other companions lay sleeping nearby, but none stirred. 'Your father used to talk in his sleep like that when he was around your age,' he noted as he prodded the fire.

'You knew my father? It has been a long time since he was my age.'

'I'm older than I look.' The ranger chuckled. 'I served your grandfather, the Steward Ecthelion, many years ago. Denethor and I were…close, but we did not part on the best of terms.'

'What happened?' Boromir pushed himself up on elbow to drink from his water bag. The night was cold, but the Southron didn't feel it despite his state of undress.

'It's a long story, and it's not entirely mine to tell.' Aragorn sighed and stared into the fire for a long moment. 'You have as much right to know it as any. Your father and I were two of Ecthelion's chief captains. A few months after your second birthday, a force of Easterlings threatened Cair Andros and the two of were sent to defend the island.

'The island was beleaguered when we arrived, but we rallied the men and drove the foe into the river. Night had fallen when they retreated, but we knew they would attack again with the dawn.'

00000000000000000000000000

Many leagues and many miles away, another couple lay under the stars in the woods of Cair Andros. One was Aragorn, though his comrades knew him as Thorongil, his hair still untouched by grey and not so weathered as he would be in forty years' time. The other was much like Boromir, though nobler of countenance and more scholarly of mien. The ranger turned on his side to face Denethor and said in somber tones, 'Denethor, we need to talk.'

'This is not about Finduilas, is it? I've told you she knows about us and she doesn't mind.' Denethor's new wife was truly a rare woman.

'No, it is something else. Have you never wondered why I carry this broken sword?' The foreigner pulled the scabbard to him from where it lay beside his blankets. The sword within was indeed broken a foot below the hilt; the shards rattled inside the sheath when he shook it. What remained of the blade was steel of the highest quality, Dwarven work most experts would call it (1).

'You told me it was an heirloom, much like my horn.' The great silver-bound horn the Steward's son bore had been passed from father to son for a thousand years since the days when Kings of the line of Anárion yet ruled in Gondor (2). In time, it would pass to Denethor's son and to his so long as the line endured.

Thorongil stared off into the woods and anxiously toyed with the hilt in his hands as he began his tale. 'That is true enough, but it is not the whole tale. I was born Aragorn son of Arathorn of the line of Isildur in the North. This is Narsil, the Sword that was Broken.'

'Who else knows this?' asked Denethor in a tight voice.

'Mithrandir, Elrond Half-elven of Imladris, the Rangers of the north–all that remains of the old Kingdom of Arnor, and few others.'

'Mithrandir!' the Southron spat the name. 'So that grey meddler would raise a wandering Ranger to the throne of Gondor and disinherit me, the Steward's son. Get you gone from this realm ere the month is out.'

The Ranger stretched out one hand to his friend and let it fall. He closed his eyes and turned away. 'So be it. Can it at least not be arranged that I leave with honour and not in disgrace? Your father would ask my reasons if I left now and we cannot tell him this.'

'That is so. For he would yield up the high seat that should be mine.' Denethor sat in thought for a few minutes. 'Always in council have you named the Corsairs of Umbar the greatest threat to Gondor. When next you counsel my father to move against them, I shall support you. See that you do not return from the South.'

'And so it was that I departed into the East from Pelargir after my victory upon the quays at Umbar. It grieved me much that your father could not face the truth of my birth. Did he not think that if I desired the kingship I could have claimed it at any time? And yet I served Ecthelion loyally for many years with no higher ambition than to fulfill his commands and to defend the people of Gondor.' Before Aragorn turned away, Boromir saw his friend's cheeks glisten wetly in the firelight.

'My father should not have treated you so. Concealing your heritage was necessary at the time, but no longer. I wish I could say I believed he would welcome you if you returned to Minas Tirith.' Boromir sighed. 'He grew harder, more bitter, after Mother died. I have never heard that he welcomed Mithrandir, but that welcome grew even less after that.'

'No, your father never loved Mithrandir. Why, I know not, though I doubt not that what love he had lessened after my revelations upon Cair Andros. For a time, I thought of what might have been if I had never told him the truth, but I know now that I could not have gone much longer without doing so.'

Boromir pulled the older man into a fierce embrace. 'I know who you are and I love you no less. Think less of the past and more of the present.'

'I will. But remember: if you breath one word of what I said this night I shall tell the most embarrassing stories of your early years I know.'

**Notes:** I suppose it's obvious that this is set some time between the Fellowship's departure from Imladris and its breaking at the falls of Rauros. Just as obviously, this does not take place during the journey through Moria or the stay in Lórien. Beyond that, I will say no more of when or where this tale was told.

For reference, here are the birthdates and ages at the time of the War of the Ring (all dates are in the Third Age of Middle Earth) of the main characters in this fic, as well as a few others for comparison, as given in Appendix B, the Tale of Years:

Aragorn son of Arathorn: 2931; served Thengel of Rohan and Ecthelion II of Gondor 2957-2980 under the name of Thorongil (88)

Denethor II son of Ecthelion II: 2930; became Ruling Steward 2984; married Finduilas of Dol Amroth 2976; (88 or 89)

Finduilas daughter of Adrahil of Dol Amroth and wife of Denethor II: 2950; died 2988 (deceased)

Boromir son of Denethor: 2978 (40-41)

Faramir son of Denethor: 2983 (35)

Arwen daughter of Elrond: 241 (2777)

Bilbo Baggins: 2890 (128)

Frodo Baggins: 2968 (50)

Theoden son of Thengel: 2948 (70)

Eowyn: 2995 (23)

Eomer: 2991 (27)

Legolas son of Thranduil: Unknown, but probably pretty bloody old

Gimli son of Gloin: 2879 (139)

The War of the Ring took place 3018-19 of the Third Age, though this fic is based more on the difference in ages between certain characters than the actual ages.

1) According to Aragorn when he arrives at Meduseld in _The Two Towers, _Narsil was forged by a smith named Telchar. In the _Silmarillion_, Telchar is referred to as being a resident of the city of Dwarven city of Nogrod.

2) Anárion was the second son of Elendil, slain by a stone cast from Barad-dúr during the War of the Last Alliance. Isildur left the rule of Gondor to Meneldil son of Anárion before his death in the Gladden Fields. That line ended in 2050 with the death of Eärnur; from that time until the coming of Elessar Telcontar in 3019, Gondor was ruled by Stewards of the line of Mardil.


End file.
